


'Tis the season (for a crush on the Christmas tree guy)

by msmorland



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmorland/pseuds/msmorland
Summary: Up close, Arthur could see that what his brain had interpreted as a paisley shirt was actually patterned with tiny Christmas trees. It stretched nicely across Tree Guy’s broad chest. And shoulders. And—“Trying to set my shirt on fire with your mind, love?” Eames said, interrupting Arthur’s contemplation of his...assets. “I know it’s not up to your usual standards.”“Trust me,” Arthur murmured, “it is.”





	'Tis the season (for a crush on the Christmas tree guy)

**Author's Note:**

> All the Christmas tree stands started springing up on the NYC sidewalks this past week, so it's no surprise that I woke up with this bit of fluff in my head. Like Arthur in this story, I'm Jewish and have never purchased a Christmas tree, so I apologize for any tree-buying inaccuracies in this fic.

Arthur didn’t hate Christmas. He was Jewish, sure, and as a kid Arthur had often found Christmas strange and lonely—his was the only house without a tree or lights or a pile of presents. He’d never believed in Santa Claus.

But these days, Arthur didn’t think about Christmas much—until the week after Thanksgiving, when the Christmas tree stand sprang up on the corner of Arthur’s block.

Like most things about New York, the Christmas tree stand was frustrating and appealing at the same time. It made the already crowded sidewalk even more crowded—why did anyone need to _create_ another obstruction when the city had so many already?—but there was something relaxing, even Arthur could admit, about the feeling of walking through a corridor lined with pine trees at the end of a long day.

And the man who ran the Christmas tree stand was rather frustrating and strangely appealing himself. He wore garishly patterned Christmas sweaters every day, and Arthur overheard him calling his customers things like “pet” and “darling” in an English accent that couldn’t possibly be real, and once or twice when their eyes met the man _winked_ at Arthur. Ugh. 

But then why did Arthur’s eyes keep drifting over to those terrible sweaters, and why did he seem to pick up everything the man said, even over the city noise?

“Duh, Arthur,” Ariadne said, after Arthur complained to her about this at the office for the fourth or fifth time that week. “Think back to seventh grade. Don’t you remember that feeling of total hormonal annoyance with whoever you liked? You have a crush on the Christmas tree guy.”

“I do not,” Arthur said. 

But then why did Arthur—who, like most New Yorkers, generally had no patience for anything that got in his way—keep walking through the Christmas tree stand at least twice a day?

* * *

Arthur was not going to buy a Christmas tree. 

It would be absolutely ridiculous. He was Jewish and had never owned a tree in his life. He had no desire to be cleaning pine needles out of his rug for the next three months. And his apartment was too small to fit a tree, anyway.

“You still need a tree, right?” Arthur found himself asking Ariadne three days later.

“I live in _Brooklyn_ , Arthur. Your tree stand is on the _Upper East Side_.” Because of course she knew immediately why he was asking.

Arthur turned Ariadne’s own tricks against her and made the most forlorn, help-me-I-am-pathetic face he could muster.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you better not think I’m taking this tree back to Brooklyn by myself.”

“I’ll help you,” Arthur promised. He hoped Ariadne knew it was his way of saying thank you.

* * *

Arthur had underestimated the challenge of wrestling a Christmas tree into a New York City cab. Especially when one of the two people trying to lift said tree was under five feet tall. (The cabbie, after a perfunctory attempt to help, had muttered something about turning the meter on and retreated back to the driver’s seat.)

Right when Arthur thought he was close to getting the tree into the trunk, he felt the top end of the tree hit the ground. He peered around the pine needles, but Ariadne had disappeared.

(Arthur was pretty sure he saw the cabbie banging his head against the back of his seat.)

Just as Arthur was about to give up, someone lifted the other end of the tree.

“Shift just a bit to the left, pet,” said a familiar English voice.

Arthur did, and he found that the tree suddenly slotted into the trunk, just the very top sticking out when the Christmas tree guy gently pushed down the lid.

“Part of the job, love,” said Christmas Tree Guy, who was suddenly _right there_ next to Arthur. “Manipulating the fabric of time and space to make Christmas trees fit into the boots of taxis.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said, and, on impulse, he held out a hand for Tree Guy to shake. “I’m Arthur.”

“Eames,” Tree Guy said.

Up close, Arthur could see that what his brain had interpreted as a paisley shirt was actually patterned with tiny Christmas trees. It stretched nicely across Tree Guy’s broad chest. And shoulders. And—

“Trying to set my shirt on fire with your mind, love?” Eames said, interrupting Arthur’s contemplation of his...assets. “I know it’s not up to your usual standards.”

“Trust me,” Arthur murmured, “it is.”

Then he realized what he’d said and blushed. “Um, I didn’t—”

But Tree Guy—Eames—was smiling broadly. “Arthur, darling,” he said. “I close at 8. Would you like to get a drink?”

Christmas tree stands, Arthur thought vaguely, did have their uses.

“Yes,” he said, and smiled just as broadly back.

* * *

Ariadne spent the cab ride looking very smug.

“What did I tell you?” she said. “You just needed a nudge.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. He waited a beat. “You make a very good elf.”

He didn’t even mind Ariadne’s tiny fists pummeling his arm all the way to Brooklyn.


End file.
